Thank the gods for the wagging tongues of superstitious servants and house hands... Inexplicable noises and shadows took on new lives when whispered over by the urgent, hushed toned folk made wary by houses baring a sordid history. Such was the House of Shar; again, that reality was most thanked for by the shy librarian.

Elle Gianna would never seek to explain to Artur Narul, nor his family, why she did what she did, for the deed her kindnesses were inspired by was something the Lord would claim was only his duty as a man of honor. He might continue to say, perhaps, that any man or citizen worth their salt would have done the same. But the truth of the matter was it wasn't just anyone who'd done it, it was him, and such brave selflessness should be cherished as well as rewarded in a world that could be unkind more often then not. Elle more than most could spin many tales, both historical and fictional, of moments that should have been seized. Of moments where action could be taken to prevent the mortality of others, yet were passed by due to a lack of mettle or a flood of fear. Man could hesitate, and such a hesitation could be a price paid with innocent blood, but Artur was not one of those men... No.

When the lord had pushed Elle from her path of selflessness, she not only felt the hard bite of the floor beneath her, but a powerful rush of Artur's spirit. Empathy was her curse as much as the willful changing of her body's shape, but it was also in some aspects a gift; at least in this case it was. The woman had been given a chance to play the serendipitous divine, and it was not a chance she would pass up idly.

The chance and moment of giving without receiving, like braving the storm of odious intent for the well being of someone other than yourself, was a thing that measured one's true character. Elle did not seek some profound sense of redemption or sanctuary in the afterlife for her benevolent ways, but to even the unkind scales that life often weighed out of man's favor. Who was she to frown when it was easier to smile? Who was she to pass up the choice of being helpful to a family who, like any, deserved a little kindness in their lives?

She was Estelle Gianna, that's who.

Though life had dealt her more unfavorable hands than she'd care to reveal, as much as she could, the awkward little woman would patch what cracks she could in the lives of others, if only for the reward of a smile. Life was too short not to smile.

For these reasons, and many others Elle had taken on the task of making the lives for House Shar's folk, in the name of Artur's kindness, as easy and pleasant as she could, if only from the shades and shapes of every other face or creature she could assume without being noticed. Let them think her deeds the blessing of a good spirit left behind by the murders to guard them against the return of any evil; it suited her secret purpose all the better. Heck, for good measure, she would even echo her voice in the softness of whispers 'round corners and hallways to further enhance the rumor!

And so it was, her workings of small and not so small kindnesses for the house's lord and his folk. Elle's first kindness came in the form of a box laden with moth shaped cookies bright and colored with the edible shine of melted candies; they were a purchase she'd attained from the very Sweet's Shoppe that Artur had chanced into. The second act came as a lost box of delicate, cat shaped almond soaps left at the feet of a curious Elsa, the house's unofficial lady in waiting, and beloved friend to Artur's sister, Ilisrai, or so she'd heard as an ever present fly on the wall

These were only small things, coincidental, nonchalant happenings that would be easily forgotten in the grand scheme of things. Elle's plans would unfold as the House's needs did, and her acts would continue as such until she felt her debt paid to the noble lord.
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Whispers of the murders once in the house were ever an underlying note. Near as often as she was, the shapeshifter remembered baring witness to a conversation between Lord Narul and Elsa about keeping the awful history away from his sister's ears. He did not want her to worry, he'd said. He did not want her imagination to run away with her thoughts, he'd said. The worry was that self crafted fears would claim the hours intended for sleep and turn his beloved kin wane with the loss of it; a brother concerned for his younger sister's health. Simple and touching. Sleep was an elusive enough creature without added stress combatting to keep it further at bay, so it was only natural that some folk sought remedies.

Elle knew such remedies without having to give search, for her mind was a vast, often underestimated wealth of knowledge.

They were sweet things, these sachets the quiet librarian crafted; silken pouches with knotted drawstrings. Too small to be troublesome to a soft pillow, yet large enough to give off a substantial aura of peace to the heavy head above. Inside these neatly knit sachets were a most potent concoction of herbs. Lavender, mugwort, rose hips, and passion flower. All these dried florals and greens combined formed quite a powerful, yet subtle aroma. Such smells mingled with the linens, imbuing each sheet and pillow it lie between with an undeniable lull. A small daub of Valerian oil helped combine each herbal element. These sachets were not magic in any way, oh no, save perhaps for the sheer good will she poured into them with each stitch. In truth, they were just a clever concoction Elle often used to help not only her own occasional sleeplessness, but in more extreme cases, to help sedate and ease the women she tended during their birthing hours.

Last but not least, each small token held a heavy grit inside them, almost like a sand, but finer. The sand was composed of ground leftovers from local stone refineries, more specifically, quartz miners. Quartz was known for it's more holistic purposes such as purity and clarity. Elle thought, perhaps, such fine bits within the herb sachet could only do more good than harm.

Tenderness was set in each, and in all, the librarian had crafted a good double dozen. A mouse would suite her form this time; yes. A mouse she would be. Strong enough to carry the sachets, yet small and wiry enough to escape would be squashers and slip under tight door frames. Each bed's pillow, from hired help to the Lord and Lady of the house themselves, would receive one. What leftovers Elle found she had were strung here or there in fabric-ed crannies like curtain folds set over a reader's alcove or cushioned benches near the fireplaces; any place one could find a comfortable repose, really.

Inhabitants of the house might notice their sleep was a touch easier and their dreams less haunted. Little things sometimes held enough power to plug back a spring in one's daily step, at least, that is, if they watched their step for a wayward house mouse!


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